Drabble no Jutsu
by Dragon Ashes
Summary: Word of the Day one-shots. Latest: Dysthymia. Gaara broods on the roof about a gross invasion of privacy, though it might not be quite as bad as he makes it out to be.


The domed roofs of Suna stretched out before Gaara, barely visible in the moonless night. He adjusted his stance; there were small indents on the roof of his house, just big enough for his small feet. The gourd on his back shifted restlessly, but the whispers were quiet and easily ignored. Shukaku was sleepy during the new moon, leaving Gaara much to his own devices.

Not that that made him any less dangerous; an assassin - or what was left of him - lay crumpled near the front door of his house. The sand shield had crushed the man without preamble. Ordinarily, Gaara would have been annoyed, but in the absence of Shukaku's insane mutterings he found himself feeling...odd. Lifeless...and unable to summon up even the urge to kill someone.

It was supremely frustrating, but even that emotion faded away more quickly than Gaara would've liked.

The house below was quiet now. It was very rarely quiet these days, ever since his...no, ever since _those two_ moved in. They feared him, he knew; like everyone else, they saw no difference between him and Shukaku. They had been strangely...open, though. The girl had greeted him that first day, explaining that they were to be trained as a team. The boy had dared to call him 'brother.'

Shukaku took offense to that.

He hadn't killed the boy, merely because he was...interesting. He openly claimed shared blood with a monster; he knew, from his observations, that such a claim was grounds for others to ostracize him. Not that the girl or the boy were well-liked to begin with, being who - and what - they were.

Gaara didn't know how long the girl and boy had been in his house. Days had no meaning to one who couldn't sleep; he measured time by the changes of the moon and Shukaku's response. It had been less than a moon cycle, though. Still too soon to tell if this was an elaborate assassination attempt or a mere reconnaissance assignment.

The girl could have been telling the truth, of course. Suna was always looking for ways to control him; perhaps they had noticed that he was reluctant to injure these particular bags of meat. He was eight, after all, and going to Suna's ninja academy wasn't exactly an option. Children younger than him were graduating and going on to lead teams.

Pathetic.

The odds were low that he would ever be put on a team. Who would dare teach _him_? He had his own brand of ninjutsu, fueled by Shukaku's rage and bloodlust. There was no one-

"Gaara?"

Gaara shifted his stance on the roof to glance over his shoulder. The girl had gotten up to the roof somehow; probably with that fan of hers. She liked playing with it.

"I...was just wondering if you were okay." Gaara noticed a roll of bandages in her hand. "I saw the...by the door. Are you injured?"

How dare she stand there, as if she was actually concerned. As if she _cared_. "It is impossible to injure me, as well you know," he snarled.

Unfortunately, the girl had been around him enough not to be affected by his attitude. "I didn't know. I just assumed..."

"You don't _know_ me!" Gaara was vaguely aware of a discomfort in his throat. It happened often when he yelled or spoke too much. "Go back inside, before I kill you."

"I'll leave this here, then. You weren't at dinner."

Gaara felt the sand on the ground shift to accommodate her landing. When he was sure she was inside, he turned. Balanced precariously atop the roof was a bowl of rice and stewed lizard. A pair of chopsticks wrapped in a napkin was propped up against a small water gourd. It stirred an...odd feeling in his chest, and he quickly looked away.

The boy and the girl were nothing to him. He was responsible for affirming his own existence. He needed no one.

The world would burn.

...After he finished his dinner.

* * *

><p>Dysthymia: a mild depression.<p>

According to Wikipedia, symptoms include low drive, low self-esteem, low capacity for pleasure, a tendency to withdraw from stress and avoid potential failures, and - in more severe cases - to withdraw from daily activities. As with all types of chronic depression, symptoms persist for at least two years.

...Yeah, I'd say that pretty much fits the younger Gaara to a T.


End file.
